


Of Domestic Bliss, Randy Redheads, and Amnesiac Episodes

by bettiqua



Series: Of Domestic Bliss, Randy Redheads, and... [4]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: (but it doesn't seem like it at first), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Riding, Temporary Amnesia, both heavy and vague spoilers for most of julian's route, but it's done it's done take it it's done, fuck it's so long 8-) i'm d y i n g, male apprentice but no name is given, takes place some time after the "Days at the Beach" entry of this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:03:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettiqua/pseuds/bettiqua
Summary: “Well, I’m sure everything’s fine, but we should probably make sure everything in your head’s in the right place. I’m going to ask you some questions, all right? You just need to answer them.”You nod.“What’s your name?” You tell him. “Age?” You answer him again. “Occupation?” Magician and shopkeeper. Then, his grin turns saucy and he raises a brow. “And finally, who am I?”You blink. His grin gets wider. Your eyebrows furrow and you bite your lip, head tilting perplexed, before saying, “I-I don’t know. Do I…know you?”His eye widens and jaw drops, and from your other side, you hear Portia gasp.OR; An unfortunate accident occurs, leaving the Apprentice with no memories of the one person one would think he'd never forget.





	Of Domestic Bliss, Randy Redheads, and Amnesiac Episodes

**Author's Note:**

> just in case you didn't see in the tags, this takes place some time after ["Of Domestic Bliss, Randy Redheads, and Days at the Beach"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103506). you technically don't have to read it, but reading that first should give you some context to certain things that happen :^)
> 
> i'm sorry this is so damn long, lol, i.....i didn't expect it to be this long....

In the brief space between slumber and waking, you remember brief flashes; the orange and purple sky of sunrise, something heavy and wooden hanging from dark iron chains, the sensation of falling, and the feeling of icy cold fear. But everything past that is a fuzzy kind of emptiness, the knowing that you’ve forgotten something, with the inability to remember it. In fact, as you start drifting closer to consciousness, there’s not much that you remember before that, either. You try to recall anything other than your name, and some things come back to you—you’re the close friend and apprentice of the magician Asra, and you spent some time doing work for Countess Nadia (though you can’t remember what exactly you were doing for her) and eventually grew close enough to consider each other friends. Portia, her handmaiden, is also a good friend of yours, and you remember she has a cat…Pepi?

You remember something else, more of a feeling than a fact. A strong, all-consuming emotion that feels like it’s stitched into every wrinkle in your brain, every vein in your heart, every fiber of your body. There’s someone you love with your entire soul…and as dread lances through your chest, you realize you don’t remember who that love belongs to. That’s what drags you to full wakefulness. There is someone you love, someone who you need to see, someone who you _wanted_ to see before you fell asleep, but…what happened?

With a grunt, you try to open your eyes. But the second you crack them open, you’re blinded by light, and you slam them shut again. You raise your hand to filter through the light so you can start to adjust, and when you do, you sit up to examine the room you’re in.

Unfortunately, your view is mostly blocked by a curtain hanging from the ceiling that curves in a U-shape around you. The curtain is undyed cotton, and so is the blanket covering your legs. Your clothes are, by contrast, very colorful, and you assume they’re the daytime clothes you must not have changed out of before you fell asleep.

That’s when the pain hits. With the speed and burning pain of a cracking whip, your head suddenly feels like it’s being split in two. You unwittingly let out a loud groan and reach up to clutch at it, hoping fruitlessly that you can assuage it.

Almost immediately after making a sound, you hear multiple gasps, and several pairs of footsteps rushing in your direction. You look up at the same time the curtain is ripped aside, and three people rush in.

You recognize two of them instantly. Asra, fluffy white hair wilder that usual, and Portia, carrying a wet handkerchief in her hand. They rush to one side of your bed, while the third person…who is he? He’s tall, has curly auburn hair, and is wearing dark clothes that seem vaguely familiar. His right eye is covered with a black eyepatch. For some reason, when you see him, your heart skips a beat. He’s…certainly handsome.

Asra gets your attention by calling your name. “Are you all right?” he asks when you look over at him, “How are you feeling? You took a pretty scary tumble earlier.”

You…fell? That would explain why you’re so sore. “It hurts, but I think I’ll probably be fine…” you say, letting your hands drop into your lap.

Then Portia pipes up, “I’m so glad you’re okay! Asra told me what happened, but I couldn’t come visit until I was finished with my duties… Milady sends you her best regards. She said she’d come visit you later, when she could make the time to.” You give her a smile, and nod, as much as your headache will allow.

The tall, dark stranger sits in a chair on your other side. Clearing his throat, he gives you a grin before saying, “Well, I’m sure everything’s fine, but we should probably make sure everything in your head’s in the right place. I’m going to ask you some questions, all right? You just need to answer them.”

You nod.

“What’s your name?” You tell him. “Age?” You answer him again. “Occupation?” Magician and shopkeeper. Then, his grin turns saucy and he raises a brow. “And finally, who am I?”

You blink. His grin gets wider. Your eyebrows furrow and you bite your lip, head tilting perplexed, before saying, “I-I don’t know. Do I…know you?”

His eye widens and jaw drops, and from your other side, you hear Portia gasp.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The tall, dark stranger is known as Dr. Julian Devorak, you learn. He’s Portia’s brother, and the only doctor in this clinic. He was wanted for the murder of Count Lucio some time ago, but he was proven innocent, and now works here at his clinic in Goldgrave, not too far away from your and Asra’s shop.

“He’s…a friend,” Asra finishes explaining.

His hesitation concerns you, but you don’t push it. Instead, you ask, “…How close were we?” Dr. Devorak’s look of shock and despair when he realized you didn’t remember him is still leaving a queasy guilt in your stomach.

Asra looks you in the eye at that, staring critically, as if measuring you. You stare back—you’re not afraid of him. After a few moments, he sighs and says, “I don’t want to try and force you to remember things. He said it could interfere your recovery process, and we don’t want to risk you losing your memories completely. But…” Asra looks down at Faust curled in his lap, “I guess I can say you trusted him with your life.”

That…makes sense. He _is_ a doctor. If you knew enough about his skill that you knew with certainty you could put your life in his hands, then you must at least be good friends. He’s Portia’s older brother after all. You nod and smile, “Thank you, Asra.”

Asra returns your smile. Then he looks concerned again. “Is there any questions you have? Based on what you’ve said, it seems like most of the memories you’ve lost have to do with Ilya, but if there’s anything else…?”

You hum as you think, bringing your hand to your chin. Following a few moments of consideration, you shake your head. There’s a couple medical concerns you have, but you doubt that Asra has any answers for them. After that, he leans down to pick up a basket Portia had walked in and delivered some time ago and puts it next to you on the bed. Inside is some bread, cheese, and dried meat, and the two of you chat about unimportant things as you eat, Faust slithering over to you at some point to wrap around your shoulders.

It’s sunset when Asra leaves. He promises to visit again soon, and informs you that Portia confirmed Nadia would visit in the evening. You thank him, and lean back in your bed with a sigh.

You don’t have much time to collect your thoughts before Dr. Devorak slides open the curtain again so you can see the sunset clearly through the windows on the other side of the room. You also see a couple more beds, also with curtains, but like yours now is, the curtains are drawn open. The light of the sunset bathes the room in yellow and pink and orange, and it’s very relaxing.

Unlike when you saw the doctor before, his cavalier attitude is gone and replaced with something reserved, almost hesitant. It sends a pang of sadness through your heart. If you were good friends, he must be sad that, not only do you not remember him, he’s also the only one you don’t remember. You wish your memories would come back so you could make him happy.

“All right,” he says, dropping in the chair again, “do you have anything you want to ask me?” You wonder if the redness rimming his eye is just a trick of the sunset light.

“Oh, well,” you rub your nose, suddenly a little shy, “Do you know if I was badly hurt or anything? I was also wondering how long I have to stay here…? And, it’s not a question but…for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I forgot you. I’m sure that I’ll remember sooner or later.” You know you’re both aware that you don’t know that for sure. But he answers you anyway.

“We’ll just have to see.” You somehow feel even guiltier, like you lied to him or something. “And under normal circumstances, after a fall like that with relatively few bodily injuries and only a mild concussion, I’d say that you could probably leave sometime tomorrow as long someone watched over you for a little while, but…” he clicks his tongue, “Well, these aren’t normal circumstances. I’d suggest sticking around for a few days so I can keep an eye on your progress, but if you want to leave before then, it’s not like I can keep you here.”

“I’ll stay!” you assure quickly without thinking. There was just something so lonesome and resigned about the way he said that that you don’t want to leave him by himself.

He looks a little startled at your sudden outburst, but he relaxes, and actually smiles. “A little eager, aren’t we?” he says with a snicker, “Buy me dinner first, hm?” His guard is finally relaxing and the way he laughs is so utterly charming, you feel your heart rate pick up a bit.

“D-Doctor…” you squeeze your blanket in your hands trying to shove down the embarrassment of stuttering like a blushing maiden.

Dr. Devorak waves a hand, “I was just kidding, don’t get all flustered.” Then his smile turns into something obviously forced, and you wonder if you did something wrong, if you should’ve said something, but then he stands up, stretching. “Anyway, it’s getting late.” He starts heading towards the door. “The Countess will probably be here soon. I’m going to go make some tea.”

“Wait!” It’s the second time you’ve said something so impulsive in as many minutes and your face heats up. Dr. Devorak turns to look at you, eyebrow raised. Your mouth opens and closes rapidly as you try to think of something to say, but it’s suddenly very difficult when the sunset light now cast on his profile brings out the sharpness of his nose and the pout of his lips and the color in his hair. The image seems so painfully familiar, and you wonder if you’ve spent sunsets with him before.

“Darli—…?” his concerned expression falls to something mortified and he slaps his hand over his mouth. When his hand falls, he's wearing an obviously fake smile. “I-is there something else you needed?”

Finally you just shake your head. “It’s…nothing. I’ll let you know if I remember anything.”

He nods and takes off out of the room.

The silence and emptiness after spending so long with other people around is nearly suffocating. Even with your many missing memories with Dr. Devorak gone, you’re still quite sure that there was not many times in your life that you were completely alone and in such a quiet place. There’s a brush of a vague half-memory of being somewhere deep underground, abandoned in the dark damp stillness, afraid that the person you loved would never return. But it fades almost as soon as it surfaces.

The occurrence itself leaves your mind when Countess Nadia shows up. She’s as regal as ever, and she sits with such poise on that rickety wooden chair that it might as well be a throne. Her hair is tied in a braid, and she’s wearing a pink blazer with a fluffy white cravat that you remember seeing her in a few times.

“Hello,” she says once she’s comfortable (or as comfortable as she can get), “I apologize it took so long to come visit. I was…” she makes a vaguely disgusted expression, “…held up.”

You laugh a little. “It’s no problem, I don’t mind at all. Thanks for coming to visit me, even though you’re so busy.”

Her smile at that is friendly and warm. “Of course. Now, Portia told me that you’ve lost some of your memories…?” She doesn’t explicitly ask, but it’s clear she wasn’t given the whole story.

“Well,” you lower your voice a little on the off chance Dr. Devorak can hear you, “most of them are still there, actually. I just forgot everything having to do with…Dr. Devorak. For some reason, all my memories about him or having to do with him are gone…”

Nadia looks dismayed at your confession. It’s a rare look of shock and pity that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on her, but she manages to calm her expression. “That’s…unfortunate,” she says. She opens her mouth again as if to say something, but she closes it again.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. You remember his wounded face again and sigh, tamping down the tears of frustration that almost well up. “I feel terrible about it. He seemed really upset when he realized. Asra said we were close friends, but now… Now I don’t even know anything about him. It’s all just _gone_.”

“Gone, hm? …You know, there was a time where I lost many of my memories. It would constantly plague me. What if I had forgotten something important? What if I had lost dear friends because I couldn’t remember? But things happen, and sometimes those things can trigger the return of those memories. I am of the belief that we cannot truly _lose_ our memories. We simply…misplace them, and all it takes is the right thing to knock them loose.” She hums in thought, clutching her chin in one manicured hand. Then a peculiar smile spreads on her lips. “I have to wonder… Perhaps the key to unlocking your memories lies with the doctor himself.”

“The doctor…?” You purse your lips in thought. “Do you mean I should spend time with him or something? And maybe that will remind me who he is?”

Nadia nods, “It’s a place to start, at least. You are staying here for some time, correct?”

“Yes.” You smile at her. “Thank you, Nadia. That’s a really good idea.”

“Of course, my friend. Now why don’t we move on to more pleasant topics?”

The two of you talk for some time, about little things, like how Nadia’s handling her new courtiers, how the shop is doing in your absence, and how you absolutely need to visit the palace again soon, even if only for an afternoon luncheon. Dr. Devorak comes in at some point with the tea (your favorite kind, too—did he know, or is it a coincidence?), before leaving. You almost call out for him to stay, but for some reason, you feel bashful about doing it while Nadia’s visiting.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, you wake up to the feeling of cool, almost cold fingers brushing feather-soft against your cheek. It feels so comforting and nostalgic that you don’t even think to question it at first. But then you hear someone inhale sharply, the hand is yanked away, and you hear them groaning under their breath. It sounds like…Dr. Devorak.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” he grouses. There’s the sound of wood scraping against wood, followed by footsteps heading towards the entrance of the room. His tone his dolefully self-deprecating. “You can live for a few _days_ without…” Then he’s too far for you to make out his words.

You sit up slowly, eyes unfocused as you reach up to touch your cheek where you felt the touch. Was it Dr. Devorak…? Surely it had to have been, there’s no one else in the room. But why? And what was he talking to himself about?

Your sleep-addled brain can’t think about it too long before Dr. Devorak comes back in carrying a tray. He’s wearing his gloves—he must have put them back on when he left the room. He starts a little when he notices you’re up and his face turns a little red, but otherwise, he acts like nothing happened.

“Good morning! I hope you slept well. I made you breakfast.” He places the tray of food on your lap; there’s some scrambled eggs, with a few slices of some kind of dry sausage and toast covered in apricot jam on the side. “Nothing extravagant, unfortunately, I don’t have much of a kitchen to speak of here. I had to, hm. Get creative.” He gives you a conspiratorial grin that you can’t help but smile back at.

“Thank you, Dr. Devorak,” you say, picking up a piece of toast and take a bite. It tastes great, and you make sure to tell him so. He straightens up and puffs his chest out like a particularly proud peacock. It makes you giggle. It’s always so cute how easily he can be pleased so.

It’s that thought that jars you—pulls up a memory you’d lost. You don’t remember the context very well, how you came to be there and what happened afterwards. But you suddenly remember a time when you were at a tavern with Portia and Dr. Devorak. You and Portia were egging him on as he prepared to arm-wrestle a particularly burly but completely inebriated seadog, and he flashed the two of you a very confident smirk. It took some doing, and the two of them were sweating by the end of it, but it ended up being a decisive victory for the doctor. You and Portia leapt out of your seats cheering, and, just as he is now, he had preened at your applause.

You gasp at the returned memory. Nadia was right. Spending time with him, getting to know him again _is_ the key. Just like when you struggle with a spell, going through your fundamentals always clears the way. It’s not too far a leap to believe the same could be said of your missing memories.

“Are you all right?” Dr. Devorak is staring at you with some concern.

“I-I…I think I just remembered something.”

Dr. Devorak jerks forward, hands slamming down on your bedside. “You do!?” the wide smile on his face is nearly blinding, “What do you remember?”

Your brows draw up and you frown, knowing you’re about to take the wind from his sails. You don’t want to see him sad again, but you can’t exactly lie. “It…wasn’t that much, to be honest. Just a brief memory from when you, Portia, and I were at a tavern and you beat some sailor in an arm-wrestling contest…”

As you predicted, he deflates back into the chair instantly, drawing his hands dejectedly into his lap. “Ah… That is… I see.” He’s looking in your direction, but you get the feeling he’s not actually looking at you. There has to be something you can do to cheer him up…

“But, you know,” you start slowly, “even if it wasn’t something big, at least I remembered _something_?” Reaching over tentatively, you place a hand over one of his, hoping it will grant him some amount of comfort. “Now we know the chance of me remembering other things is a lot greater than before. We just have to keep trying to get those memories back.”

His eye glances once at your hand over his, then up to your face. He stares at you, looking so impossibly lonely for a moment that it nearly crushes your lungs. But then he gives you a halting smile. “I suppose you’re right,” he says, a little quiet, “It’s certainly not a lost cause yet.” You hate that you can’t tell if he really believes that or not.

 

* * *

 

 

Dr. Devorak left the room some time ago, but you’re not sure how long. It’s a bit harder to tell the time when you spend a lot of it sitting around in a bed. Technically, you know there’s nothing keeping you here. You can leave the room if you want, even leave the clinic altogether. But you’re a little scared that if you leave, you’ll upset Dr. Devorak or get in his way. It’s a completely baseless assumption, he even told you that he’s available if you ever need anything, and the only way you know to get your memories back is, indeed, spend time with him and try to coax them out. Still, you worry you’d bother him somehow.

But you have to go to the restroom _eventually_ , so you wander out, keeping an eye open for anything that seems like what you’re looking for. You eventually find such a room, just down the hall from the room of beds you were staying in. When you leave the room, feeling refreshed, you start heading back, but you see a door you didn’t notice previously slightly ajar. Your interest is piqued, and you can’t resist walking towards it to find out what’s behind it. As you get closer, you begin to hear voices.

“…can’t do that, Pasha.” That’s Dr. Devorak. “I don’t want to, I don’t know… Freak him out or something. What if he doesn’t feel the same way anymore?” You wonder what he and this ‘Pasha’ are talking about. You feel guilty eavesdropping on what sounds like a private discussion.

“Come now, you don’t actually believe that,” Portia’s voice is chiding (is Pasha a nickname?), but you can tell she’s also worried, “And this is _killing_ you, Ilya, can’t you just…” her voice gets a little too quiet for you to hear the end of the question. You wonder what they’re talking about. Whatever it is is troubling Dr. Devorak, and you feel bad that your forgetting him is probably only making him feel worse.

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Dr. Devorak cuts in. “And you’d better not tell him anything, either. If you do, I’ll tell the Countess that you—”

Portia squeaks in alarm and you hear a small slapping sound, the rest of Dr. Devorak’s words muffled. “Don’t you dare!”

“Then don’t tell him anything. Swear on it.”

“ _Fine_ , I swear,” she groans, “but you should at least visit him more often. He’s probably feeling just as lonely as you do without you, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

You then hear them give each other farewells, followed by footsteps coming towards the door. In a panic, you try to run back to your bed as quickly and quietly as possible. You’ve barely got the blanket over your lap in time as Portia walks in, carrying a leather bag over her shoulder and none the wiser.

“Hello!” she says brightly, genuinely happy to see you. As soon as she reaches your bedside, she drops the bag into your lap with little ceremony. “I brought you some clothes and some other stuff from your place!”

“You went to the shop for me?” you ask, smiling as you open it up. When she doesn’t answer immediately, you glance up at her. Her face is screwed up tight, awkward. She notices you looking at her and she tries to relax, with some success.

“Y-yeah, the shop…” she mumbles. She takes a seat in the chair while you examine the bag’s contents. As Portia said, there are a quite a few of your clothes in it, enough for a few days. But there’s also your tarot deck tied together with a thin leather string, a deck of normal playing cards, and a small shell attached to a silver chain. The deck of Arcana calls to your magic, but the shell calls to your heart, and you reach in to pick it up.

The shell itself is a rich blue with swirls of a pearlescent violet and specks of bluish-white, reminding you of the space between the real world and the realms of the Arcana, the place you only ever visit in your dreams. It’s beautiful, and you’re mesmerized by it for a few moments. This trinket means a lot to you, you just know it, but, unfortunately, you can’t remember where you got it. Which means it probably has to do with Dr. Devorak. Did he…give you this?

“Do you know what that is?” You look up at Portia and she has an expression of wide-eyed hope.

“Did Dr. Devorak give this to me?”

She looks excited, “Do you remember!?”

You sigh and shake your head. “No, I don’t. I assumed it has to do with him since I can’t remember where I got it.” Portia droops, pouting with disappointment. “I can’t remember,” you mutter, “but for some reason…I feel like it’s important.” Your eyes dart from the shell to Portia again. “Any chance you can tell me the story behind this?”

She grimaces and shakes her head. “Ilya told me I shouldn’t… I’m sorry.”

You sigh again, “It’s fine. I just wish I could remember everything…” Portia nods glumly in agreement.

 

* * *

 

You look out the windows on the other side of the room. …No one’s around. Next you check out in the hallway. …No one seems to be coming to visit you. You heave a relieved sigh, and turn back to your bed. On the foot of it is a pile of your clothes, and on the ground before it is a bucket of water with a rag on the lip.

You collected the items earlier after Portia left. You feel kind of gross after sleeping in your clothes, and a quick rub down and change of clothes should make you feel a little better. Still, even if no one is around now, you shouldn’t dally for too long in case someone shows up sooner or later.

After quickly stripping down to your undergarments, you dunk the rag into the (luckily lukewarm) water, squeeze out the excess, and begin dragging it along your body, starting with your face. Then you slowly move down to your shoulders, your arms, chest, hips…

When you get to the edge of your undergarments, you’re just about to pull them down when you happen to peek at the door and see Dr. Devorak standing in the doorway. His eye is wide and cheeks a dark red, and his jaw is dropped. He instantly realizes you’ve caught him watching when you freeze, and he begins babbling.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were—I wasn’t—I wouldn’t—I would _never_ try to spy on you while you’re—n-not to say that you’re not _worth_ —er, aren’t _attractive_ , you definitely _are_ , but I wouldn’t just—” he cuts himself off with a groan and covers his face with one hand. “I apologize, I’ll…come back another time,” he says, partially muffled, as he turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

…You wonder how long he was standing there. For some reason, you find that you aren’t disgusted by the idea of him watching you bathe. In fact, your face is warming and heart is racing with more exhilaration than humiliation.

When you finish your pseudo-bath, you put on your new outfit, and put your old one beside the leather bag with your other belongings. Then you pick up the bucket and rag, and head for the door.

Dr. Devorak is waiting against the wall beside the door. His arms are crossed and his face is still a little pink. He looks a little…constipated.

“I, uh. Hey,” he starts. “Do you need help with that?” he asks, jerking his chin towards the bucket. You don’t really, but he might leave if you say no, and if you want to regain your lost memories, you need to spend as much time with him as possible (not that you aren’t also just happy to be in his company). So you nod, and hand him the bucket.

“Thank you,” you say, smiling warmly. He only nods in return, and the two of you start walking down the hall. It’s a little awkward at first. There’s some obvious tension in his step. You try to quell it. “It’s all right, by the way. I don’t mind that you walked in on me.”

He startles a little, and a small amount of water splashes onto the floor. “A-ah, I’m…glad to hear that. It really _was_ an accident, you know…”

‘ _I wouldn’t mind if it_ wasn’t _one, either_.’ The sudden urge to say that is completely out of the blue, and your heart rate doubles with immediate panic. How entirely forward, you think, you hardly know the man (or rather, remember him). How would he even react if you said that, you wonder? Oh, how you long to tease him, he always gets this utterly ravishing look on his face—

There it is again. In a flash, you remember something new—or rather, something old. You’re not sure how, but you just know that this wasn’t very far in the timeline of your relationship with Dr. Devorak.

The two of you are in some old, long-forgotten garden. You’re hiding, but you can’t exactly recall from what. He placed a flower behind your ear, a dangerous genus he told you, and you asked him if he feared danger. With bluster, he claimed to live for it.

“So, pain doesn’t scare you, either?” you had asked.

“Why should it? In my line of work, you can’t be afraid of a little pain. One might say I have…” then he grinned, “intimate knowledge of it.” A suspicion had come to mind, then. You wondered…was there a deeper meaning in his playful words? You stepped forward, and you don’t remember now how he got it but you pressed your hand into a wound on his waist. His throat bobbed attractively before he tried to bluff.

“Oho. Are we dancing?” he asked with a grin, but you could see pink tinging his skin, violet in the light of the garden, and a drop of sweat at his temple, “I didn’t know you could. What, er, what’s your poison? Tango? Waltz—?” You had ignored him, only stepped closer and pressed harder against his wound. He looked less like a man in pain, and more… You examined his red face and the way he bit at his lip. The muffled noise he made sounded less like one of discomfort, and more of…arousal. He took a step back and collided with a brick wall. It’s likely all that kept him up.

He looked desperate, even as he tried again to pretend that this wasn’t what it was. “S-so, not the waltz then. Pity, I’ve been known to cut a rug—” He was interrupted by his own small whimper—your suspicion was confirmed, there was something about the pain that he _liked_ —clutching your shoulders tight as he started sliding down the wall…

And that’s where the memory ends. You’re almost angry for a second that everything past it is a fog. But then you realize that you’ve regained another memory. You gasp and look at Dr. Devorak, smiling widely at him. “I remembered something!”

His eyebrows jump up, but then he looks a little cagey. “Something small like last time?” he asks. He must be trying to keep his expectations low.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think it was sort of earlier on in our relationship… We were running away from something, and there was an abandoned garden with glowing flowers. We were talking and then you were up against a wall…” You trail off when you notice Dr. Devorak has stopped in his tracks. You turn to look at him, worried, until you see that almost his entire face is flushed red and he’s staring down at his boots.

When he notices that you’re looking at him, he groans and slaps his free hand over the top half of his face. “Of all the things for you to remember,” he groans, more to himself than you, “it had to be that…”

“Dr. Devorak?” you ask. Does he…not want to remember it? You suppose it’s fair, it’s…yes, now that you think about it, it _is_ a little embarrassing. You basically told him you remembered that time you learned he was a bit of a masochist— _ah_. Now you feel as sheepish as he does.

He sighs and waves his hand away from his face with a little flourish. “It’s no matter,” he says, beginning to walk again. His pace is a little faster this time, so you have to jog a little to keep up. “I suppose it’s good you’re remembering things,” he looks down at you with a soft smile. It’s more hopeful than the last one. You beam back at him.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Devorak is just that—a doctor. And a doctor, no matter whether they’re legitimate or not, needs supplies. You are well aware of this, so you aren’t particularly surprised when, in the late afternoon, the doctor comes in giving you a half-worried, half-pensive look telling you he has to run out to restock on some ingredients for research into some kind of tonic. What does surprise you is how quickly you offer your assistance with his errand.

He looks a little surprised at first, but he does accept your help in the end.

You expect to head up towards the Center City Marketplace, where you so oft frequented, but instead, the two of you work your way towards the South End Market instead. You don’t remember going to South End very often; there wasn’t much need to go when your shop is smack dab in the middle of the Center City with anything you could possibly need, and anyway, Asra always seemed hesitant to go there in the past.

But you have to wonder if maybe you ever _did_ go, frequently even, and simply can’t remember, because walking through the streets and over the bridges of South End while dodging rowdy cityfolk and rambunctious children feels like muscle memory. Of course, Dr. Devorak had warned that the place was a little disorderly (to say the least), but you’re both a little surprised at just how well you handle the crowd. Dr. Devorak gives you a proud smile and a compliment and you can’t help feeling like a particularly delighted puppy.

You and the doctor traverse the market, you examining everything around, hoping to jar some more memories, and Dr. Devorak haggling with merchants for this root or that vinegar. It takes time, and as the two of you are locating a merchant with the final item on your list (some kind of acid…it had a really long formulaic name you can’t remember), it’s almost sunset. You’re a little tired from moving around so much after spending most of a couple days in bed, so you aren’t quite paying attention where you’re going. Eventually, you bump into a rather large stranger.

“Hey,” you hear a deep voice grind out before you can start apologizing, “watch where you’re goin’, punk.” The woman is _huge_ , taller than Dr. Devorak, and more muscular for certain. She cracks her knuckles threateningly.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, nervous, “I wasn’t watching where I was going…”

The woman scoffs, “Y’sure _weren’t_ ,” then she grins, but it’s in no way friendly, “you coulda knocked me over, cracked open my skull on the ground.” You are quite sure that both of you know that she’s much too sturdy for you to have ever possibly done that.

Luckily, someone steps between you, and you recognize the auburn curls and large overcoat of Dr. Devorak. “Now, now, Hermie,” does he know this woman? “No need to get testy. You’re all right, aren’t you? My, um. _Assistant_ here is a little new, you’ll have to excuse him.”

Hermie’s face screws up with distaste. Her gaze darts from Dr. Devorak to you several times before she lands on the doctor. “You win, Devorak, on account of I owe ya for that save near Milova. But how ‘bout a little somethin’ for my troubles, eh?” she has a dark smirk that promises pain if refused.

With a sigh, the doctor surrenders a few gold coins. “Don’t spend them all in one place.” He lets out a loud yelp when she pats him on the shoulder with what sounds like her full strength.

When Hermie departs, he spins around to look at you, brows drawn up in concern. He gets close, his overcoat fluttering around the two of you, fingers drifting between your face and shoulders as he turns you this way and that to examine you for injuries. Despite that, he still asks, “Are you all right? Did she touch you?”

“I’m fine,” you say, and he finally removes his hands, but stays in your personal space. “You don’t have to worry so much about me, you know. And you didn’t have to step in for me, I could’ve handled it. Probably.” Dr. Devorak is certainly dramatic and a bit of a rogue, but he’s certainly protective. Always so willing to take on punishment on for others… What was it Portia said? “Always shouldering someone else's burdens while lamenting how heavy the load is”?

This time you have a split second to prepare for the feeling as it comes over you; the feeling of something in your head clicking right into place, the return of another memory.

The two of you were walking down a street of South End (one the two of you passed just an hour ago or so ago, if you remember correctly). Dr. Devorak had said you needed to talk, just before being interrupted by some scamp running past chasing their dog. You were knocked aside, and you were certain you were going to hit a fruit cart and knock it over. But Dr. Devorak managed to catch you, cradling you against his chest as he took the brunt of your fall.

He grunted, and tried to get your attention. “Are you all ri—?” But he swiftly interrupted himself with a resigned, “Ohhh, no,” as the two of you watched one apple fall, and the cart follow its fate almost in slow-motion. “Watch out for—!” Before any of it could hit you, though, Dr. Devorak rolled the two of you out of the way, unfortunately not fast enough to avoid a cascade of fruits to his back.

It took a moment for the dust to settle, but when it did, he pushed himself up to his elbows to look at you. “Are you all right? Nothing hit you, did it?”

Before you could properly answer, he leapt to his feet and helped you up. He didn’t hesitate for a second to start inspecting you for injuries, while wiping away any spots of dirt he found. When he deemed you fit, he finally stepped away and then noticed the disaster around him with a blush.

“Now, isn’t this a mess… Looks like I’m buying a fruit stand today.”

Present day Dr. Devorak’s expression sours, but you can tell he’s not seriously upset. “Excuse me for caring. Hermie can be pretty ruthless when she’s in a mood.” It takes you a second to remember what he’s talking about, but you set it aside. You reach up to grip his shoulders, drawing him even closer.

“I remembered something new! You saved me from a falling fruit cart!” you chatter excitedly, “Thank you so much, Dr. Devorak! I don’t remember if I ever thanked you for that…” His face turns pink and he delicately removes your hands from his shoulders so he can take a step back.

“Ah yes, I remember that. You’re welcome,” he says, smiling. But he looks a little awkward, as though there’s something more unpleasant to that memory than you can remember. You frown a little.

“Are you okay?”

He only stares at you blankly for a second before raising an eyebrow and smirking, “I’m fine. That happened much too long ago for any bruises to stick around. Now!” he spins on his heel and begins walking again, “Come along! It’s going to get dark soon, and we should stop somewhere to eat before we go back to the clinic.”

 

* * *

 

It’s late, you think. It’s a little past twilight, at least. All the ingredients you and the doctor had purchased are properly jarred, labelled, and put in their respective places, and now the two of you are lounged in his office. This is the first time you’ve been in his office since you woke up in the clinic (that you can remember, anyway), and it’s quite novel. The room has a bookshelf on the far side, and rows of bottles and jars on two long shelves that are built into the wall to the right. The glassware and their contents glitter in the red sunlight streaming from the long window on the left. His desk, cluttered on one side with books and loose papers but clear on the other where he writes, sits in the center of the room, and there’s another chair near the door that you currently occupy.

Dr. Devorak is writing rapidly in a notebook of some kind at his desk, and you’ve been alternating between staring at him and inspecting the blue shell necklace that Portia had given you earlier around your neck. You _were_ sorting through your deck of Arcana, but for some reason, they had been oddly silent. Not in any way that was concerning, necessarily, but as though they were preparing for something, holding their breath in anticipation. It made it hard to try to practice listening to them, so you gave up, slid the deck back in your pocket, and pulled the shell necklace from where you had it hidden beneath your shirt.

It still bothers you. You know it’s significant. You know it represents a turning point in your life. You know it has to do with Dr. Devorak. But every time you try and scratch and pound at the walls of your mind, hoping your answer will be revealed…there’s nothing. So you look at Dr. Devorak, and at the shell, and try to imagine it.

You don’t think you’ve ever been to the beach in Vesuvia before, but you know what beaches are supposed to look like. So you picture one in your mind; cool breeze, hot sun, blue waves, warm yellow sand. Then you try to add Dr. Devorak to the picture. He probably wouldn’t wear his full suit to the beach, but you can’t really picture him in any other clothes—other than perhaps that white tunic in the memory at that tavern. So you imagine him in that instead, then move on. The shell…how did he give it to you? Did he simply pick it up and give it to you? You feel like there must be more to it than that. This shell _represents_ something, it has meaning beyond just a simple trinket. Did he ask you something while he gave you the shell? Did he tell you something important?

None of it seems right. You kind of want to just ask him directly what the story behind it is. Just stand up and show it to him and ask. But you get the feeling he wouldn’t tell you, and would just get mad at Portia for giving it to you and ‘interfering with your recovery.’ You hide it back under your shirt, the chain around your neck still feeling cool against your skin.

Dr. Devorak sighs heavily, and you look up to see him rubbing his eye. When his hand pulls away, you can see how bloodshot it is, and you wonder if he’s been getting enough sleep. You’re just about to ask when he happens to glance at you and catches you staring at him.

He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, then opens it again. “Dare I ask how long you’ve been staring at me?” he asks. He sounds like he’s trying to sound teasing, but his voice quivers ever so slightly. The words themselves sound a little familiar, echo in your head with a much more flirty and confident tone, but alas, no memory springs forth. You sigh in frustration.

“I just…” you reach up to run a hand through your hair, “I want to remember. I know you’re important to me. And it’s killing me that no matter what I do, I can’t force them to come back. All I can do is just…spend time with you and _hope_ something happens…” Then you sigh again, solemnly, shaking your head. “You can’t babysit me forever, and I have my life to live.” The next words you speak are weak, almost a whisper, “But for some reason…it feels like it wouldn’t be complete without you in it…”

When it registers what exactly you said, your eyes widen and you feel your face heat up a little. Nervously, you look at Dr. Devorak. He looks absolutely stricken, and almost like he wants to just get up and bolt. But then he shuts his eye, takes a few calming breaths, and then stands. He walks around his desk, and for a second, you think he’s going to walk up to you, but he only moves to the other side of his desk, leaning against it and crossing his arms.

“You know…I don’t mind ‘babysitting’ you. If anything, it’s helpful having another person around while I work,” he says almost conversationally. Then he bites his lip a little and looks out the window beside his desk. “Once Pasha—er, Portia—got in trouble with these rough and tumble pirate types. This was when we were little brats, she was only about yea tall,” he grins and indicates a height just a few inches taller than his desk, “and we still lived in Nevivon. We were on an errand for Mazelinka—” he pauses and regards your expression. He must not find what he’s looking for, and continues, “—ah, Mazelinka, she took care of us and a lot of other kids in our neighborhood. She wasn’t really an aunt or a grandmother or anything, just…Mazelinka,” he concludes with a chuckle.

“Anyway, I don’t even remember what she had even sent us to do, because we certainly didn’t finish it. We were on the way to the marketplace and Portia bumped into a pirate. Not unlike when you bumped into Hermie,” he says aside, pointedly raising a brow, “Unlike Hermie, however, he was a lot less forgiving. Said she’d knocked his spirits over, even though he had spilled it himself before we even got near him. She looked so scared, so I pushed her behind me and told her to go back to Mazelinka’s, and tried to distract him while she ran. I told him about how I was a practiced magician, and if he wanted to make trouble, then I’d swiftly end it.” At your confused look, he laughs. “I was of course no such thing, but _he_ didn’t know that. Still, he didn’t believe me at first, and he grabbed me by the front of my shirt, nearly lifting me off the ground.

“Just at that moment, a whole heap of snow fell off the overhang they stood under—as if by divine intervention—and practically knocked him over. He dropped me in shock, and he and the other pirates were totally spooked.” He suddenly hops into a heroic looking pose, pointing directly at you with a bold grin, “‘If you don’t get out of here, I’ll do a lot _worse_!’ I told them, and they scrambled out of there as fast as their completely sloshed selves could.”

At the conclusion of his story, you laugh and clap your hands. Dr. Devorak chuckles and bows with pomp. Such a dramatic man, but you can see through it. You know the real reason for his story was to distract you from your troubles. It’s very considerate of him.

Contrary to the other times you’ve regained memories, this time it’s a slow and warm ascent, and it rises in your mind like steam off a cup of rich hot cocoa.

You remember the warmth of the mug of bespoke cocoa in your hands, the piles of blankets covering your body, and the fireplace in the shop, even as you shivered from your terrible cold. In front of you, Dr. Devorak and Portia reenacted an event from their youth, the former accentuating the story with theatrics while the latter constantly corrected his particularly erroneous embellishments. You could hear Asra chuckling from the other side of the room.

Dr. Devorak tripped at one point when Portia kicked her ankle out as he began strutting in a ridiculous impersonation. He fell with an ignoble squawk, falling directly onto his face. You and Portia started giggling uncontrollably, while the doctor groaned from the carpet. When he pushed himself up to his elbows and knees, though, he wasn’t glaring at Portia, he was watching you attentively, smiling fondly.

You were still cold, but you felt your heart warm when you realized he just wanted to cheer you up.

Dr. Devorak, when you come back to the present, is a little closer. He’s reaching a hand out, placing it on your shoulder. “I don’t mind waiting, my dear,” and he has the same fond smile now as he did in your memory, “I could wait forever, if it were you.”

You’re not sure if it’s the words themselves or the way he said them or both, but the sentiment pierces your heart. You stare up at him with wonder, heart beating loudly in your chest as you realize that you’re in love with this man. You love this funny, loudly overdramatic, self-sacrificing, _kind and caring_ man with everything you have, even if you don’t remember so much about him. Even if you remembered him, you know you would still love him.

But…wait. Though foggy, you vaguely remember waking up that first time in the clinic. You remember that aching love that had felt so ingrained in your being. Are you…remembering that the one you love is Dr. Devorak? Is your love for him so innate that you remember it before remembering so much else? Your heart twinges—how long have you been in love with him? The way he acts…you somehow doubt that you were a couple before this. _Great_ , you think sullenly, what’s the point in remembering that you have unrequited feelings for someone? Still—thinking about the love you feel, how happy being with him makes you, even if it’s just sitting in each others’ company… You’d rather remember all the good things, even if it’s painful, than forget him altogether.

A little pain is worth it to be with Dr. Devorak, you think. You’re not going to let it get to you.

 

* * *

 

Nadia and Portia are hiding something. You’re sure of it.

Nadia came to visit you for breakfast. She had a servant you didn’t recognize with her, carrying a large basket full of fancy food you were positive had actual names, but you couldn’t begin to guess what they were. When she arrived, the servant spread it all out on a portable table between you and the wooden chair she sat in. She seemed fine on the outside, but you got the sense it was simply a pretense of calm that she had perfected instead of her natural poise.

But that mask only lasted until Portia came running in. The second her handmaiden appeared, Nadia’s cheeks darkened, and she couldn’t quite meet her eyes, even as she extends her a greeting. She managed to keep her cool as she talked, but her normally reserved and carefully controlled body language was fraying at the ends.

Portia, on the other hand, was quite clearly a mess. Nadia’s relatively dark skin hid her flush to some extent, but Portia’s fair complexion was much more revealing. Her red face nearly concealed her freckles, and she couldn’t keep her eyes anywhere for too long. She was also louder than usual.

Something _obviously_ happened between them. They kept shooting each other furtive glances when the other wasn’t looking; Nadia looking at her soulfully, Portia with partially-lidded eyes and a bit lip. One could almost think they were bashful lovers, in a relationship so new that they didn’t know what to do with each other.

You’ve just watched Portia tug on a curl while pretending she wasn’t looking at Nadia for the tenth time when you finally decide to ask.

“Did something happen between you two? You seem, uh…different.” That’s putting it gently. More like excruciatingly saccharine and dewy-eyed.

To your right, Nadia immediately freezes. By contrast, Portia becomes a flurry of activity to your left, waving her arms rapidly in denial.

“N-n- _no_! Nothing happened! We’re _fine_! We’re completely the exact same people we were yesterday!” She turns wide eyes towards the Countess. “I-isn’t that right, milady!?”

For a moment, her desperate plea seems to be unheard. Nadia’s rigid posture doesn’t budge an inch. But Portia’s words soon seem to register, and she nods, clearing her throat. “I-indeed…! I…simply had a late night the previous evening. It seems my lack of sleep is catching up to me.” As far as excuses go, that was quite weak, especially for Nadia.

“Y-yeah,” Portia’s frenzy seems to cool down a little with Nadia’s support, “and a certain _shit_ bird kept attacking my cottage this morning, so I’m a little frazzled,” she concludes with a painfully forced laugh.

You purse your lips, narrowing your eyes and looking between the two of them. They’re both smiling with varying degrees of uncomfortable stiffness, and it must be pretty clear to them that you’re not buying it. But before you can open your mouth and call them out on their obvious lying, you all hear footsteps, and look up to see Dr. Devorak entering the room.

“Well, having a luxurious palace breakfast, are we?” he asks, smirking, “I have to say I’m quite disappointed that I wasn’t invited—”

Portia leaps to her feet, knocking over the wooden chair she’d stolen from another bed, “Ilya! My wonderful, perfect big brother!” she throws an arm around his waist, squeezing him tight to her side, “I was just wondering where you were, I, uh,” she looks around desperately, mentally grasping for _something_ to change the subject. She finally finds it, and belts out, a little too loud, “I have a question!”

Dr. Devorak looks down at her, already suspicious. “Yes…?” She gives him a look that is half-admiration…and half-apology.

“Have you ever been in love, dear brother?” She looks at him with the most innocent expression she can muster. He just looks at her like she just threw him under a speeding carriage, completely flabbergasted, and is stunned speechless.

You find yourself immediately interested in his answer. Of course, wouldn’t anyone be? Getting the opportunity to learn whether or not the person you love loves someone else… Not that you’re sure you had a chance in the first place, but, well, you still want to know.

Unfortunately for him, the awkward silence gets to be too much for him to bear, and he breaks the silence. “I…” he glances at you, then down at his sister, “Yes, I have.”

“Really?” You’re surprised when you realize it came from you and not Portia. Still, you started, you might as well finish. “What are they like? The person you love.”

You hear a quiet sigh of relief from Nadia’s direction, but you’re too engrossed in Dr. Devorak to pay her any mind. Besides, this is only a distraction. You’ll needle it out of her or Portia sooner or later. Probably Portia, she seems like the weaker link.

Dr. Devorak makes a couple hesitant, aborted noises, but he eventually says, “He’s…nice?” Portia, who had backed off from him, punches him in the side. “Ouch! Fine.” He sighs, rubbing his injury. “He cares about me. There’s so many things he’s done for me—even to his own detriment, even when things seemed hopeless… He still did everything he could to save me.” As he speaks, he gets this smile on his face, and his eyes unfocus a little, caught up in the person he’s talking about. “And he trusts me. Even when he sometimes shouldn’t.”

Portia snorts knowingly at his side, and he gives her a curt but familiar look.

“We’ve just…been through a lot together. But he also makes me want to be a better person. Even when things got…serious, or scary, he made me feel like some things are worth sticking around and fighting for, even if you don’t know what the future holds. Some things are worth the risk.”

For the first time since you woke up in the clinic, since the first memory you regained of Dr. Devorak, this is the first one that actually hurts when it’s triggered. You slap your hands up to your head to try and relieve the sudden aching, but of more importance is the memory you just got back.

It was bright and sunny that fateful day. At the Coliseum. Though the only battle that would be fought there on that day was one in court. You don’t remember much about the first part of the trial, other than you were struggling to prove Dr. Devorak innocent in the murder of the Count. But he was fighting you for some reason. It was driving you mad. You had to figure out a different angle of attack.

“Why turn yourself in now? After all these years?” you pressed. Your hands were shaking in fists against the cool, polished wood of your stand. From passionate fury or fear that you’d lose, you weren’t sure then and you aren’t sure now.

Dr. Devorak from across the way seemed shocked at your new line of questioning. “I…” But he was quick to recover, “Well, you see, that’s a funny story, investigator. Truth is…I met someone special.” At his words, the audience in the Coliseum were shocked, each and every one leaning closer, staying quiet as possible so as to eat up every word, thriving on the drama. But neither you nor Dr. Devorak looked away from each other. You were in your own separate world. “Someone I really care about,” he continued with an easy grin. But it fell just as easily into something more like fierce determination. “Someone I’d do anything to protect.”

You don’t remember why, but you know that that sentence made your blood run cold, even in the heat of the afternoon sun, and the anxiety only worsened when he added, “If I could, I’d tell him I’m doing this because I want him to be safe.”

“Even if it means dying?” You didn’t realize you voiced your thought until he answered, sneering.

“Some things are worth the risk.”

When you come back to it, your three friends are all leaning close to you. The pain is mostly gone, nothing more than a brief pressure behind your eyes.

“Are you all right, my friend?”

“Does it hurt? Is there anything I can get you?”

“Did you just remember something!?”

To Nadia, “I’m fine.” To Dr. Devorak, “No, I’m okay now, it didn’t last very long.” And finally, to Portia, “Yes. I just remembered…not all of that day, but…something from Dr. Devorak’s trial…”

All three of them look shocked. Then they look uneasily at each other. It irritates you a little, knowing that they know everything and aren’t telling you. You understand why, and you do appreciate their concern, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating.

“Why did you fight me?” you ask, looking Dr. Devorak in the eye. You know he won’t tell you, though. True to form, he flinches and looks away.

“It’s a long story. But, listen,” he tries to reassure you with an uneven smile, “it all worked out in the end?”

You stare at him thoughtfully for a moment, anger cooled for a different reason than his weak attempt at placating. Softly, you wonder, “Because of the person you love?”

“…Yeah. He saved me,” he says, his smile turning tender and earnest and wistful. You wish it could be yours.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Devorak took off from the clinic some time ago, not long after Portia and Nadia returned to the palace. However, he didn’t let you come along this time, looking a little dodgy, saying that this was a special errand he needed to go on alone. You didn’t get the sense it was actually dangerous—only that he was embarrassed about whatever it was and didn’t want to admit it. You decided not to pry, and let him go, even though you were burning with curiosity over what he was hiding.

Sadly, while he wasn’t around, there was no chance of you regaining any more memories. You brooded for a little while in the empty clinic. Everyone is busy, and you’re alone again. Before long, you can’t stand the stifling silence, and you leave, locking the door to the clinic with the spare key Dr. Devorak gave you. You start walking, not having much of a location in mind. Vesuvia is a beautiful city, but you’re too lost in your thoughts to really appreciate it.

You know you love Dr. Devorak, it feels as natural as breathing, and you know it’s not anything new. You also don’t think he feels the same, and confessing your feelings for him would probably be a mistake. Unless he _did_ feel the same, and he’s just very good at hiding it…but that was admittedly optimistic. Dr. Devorak was a good actor, but he couldn’t be _that_ good. …Right?

There’s a loud cawing from behind you, and as soon as you turn around, a black blur zooms past you, and flies around you in a circle a couple times. You stare at it in shock, finding yourself stunned still—does it know you?—before it starts flying away. For some reason, you feel like you should follow it. There’s some gut feeling that tells you that there’s somewhere it’s trying to lead you to, somewhere you should go.

The crow leads you through Goldgate, until you reach a tall, slim building with no windows. There doesn’t seem to be a front door streetside, only weathered fresco paintings depicting various romances. The crow leads you down an alley to a slightly rickety looking stairwell leading down to an out of place iron door, leading to the basement of the building. It lands on a timeworn wooden beam above the stairwell, looking between you and the door below. For a moment, you hesitate; you have no idea who this crow is, who it could belong to, nor what exactly kind of place this is. But you’ve come this far, and that instinct to trust the bird hasn’t gone away yet. So you make your way down.

When you push open the door, you’re in a short but long room. It’s not well lit, and there are red curtains everywhere. There’s beams of light streaming through some of them. Strewn about the hall are barrels and boxes and coat hangers, each carrying various odd items; shovels, fake weapons, feather boas, ridiculous hats and masks, colorful outfits, and more. They look like…costume and set pieces.

There’s a blood-curdling scream from somewhere—it’s hard to tell because the acoustics of the room allow noises to echo loudly and from everywhere. You instantly feel the rush of adrenaline in your veins, and you look around, trying to find the source of the sound. You push aside curtains cautiously, and eventually you find it.

Peeking out from your relatively hidden position, you see it: there’s a play in progress. An actress is lying on the floor, eyes shut with a hand over her heart. There’s a large fake cutlass and fallen naval captain’s hat at her side. The other actor on stage throws you for a loop—it’s Dr. Devorak. He’s wearing a wide-brimmed pirate hat with an absurdly large feather sticking out of it with a blonde wig beneath it, and he’s holding a fake rapier. You surmise his character has just defeated the other actress’ in combat.

“It looks like you’ve underestimated me for the last time, my dear,” he says, smirking as he sheathes the rapier. “You should’ve known you can’t catch me so easily.” The audience claps and whistles loudly, evidently loving Dr. Devorak’s character.

“Captain!” another actor runs on stage, dressed like a pirate, “The entire Navy’s heading towards us!”

Dr. Devorak looks at them, grinning roguishly, “Oh, Mercutio, you know no one in the world could keep up with Captain Aztare Tyaltti and his crew. Ready the ship!”

The other actor salutes, looking relieved. “Aye, sir!” You hear some noises from above, and, looking up, you see two stagehands yanking ropes until a heavy red curtain falls. It’s not thick enough to block the cheering from the other side. Dr. Devorak and the other two actors on the stage get to their feet and stand in a line, and a few other actors join them. The stagehands pull the curtain back up, and they all bow, though none deeper than the doctor.

The audience’s applause is revived, and it’s nearly deafening. You retreat back to what must be the dressing room, and wait until for the actors to come back. Most of the actors are too tired to pay you much mind. The actress that played Captain Tyaltti’s rival looks at you curiously, but passes you by as well.

Dr. Devorak is taking off his huge hat and wig when he enters the room so he doesn’t see you at first, but when he does, he stops in his tracks, staring at you stupefied. You grin widely at him.

“I didn’t know you were such a good actor that you could land a leading role, Dr. Devorak,” you quip. That seems to snap him out of it, and he flushes above a smile.

“Well, thanks,” he says sarcastically, running a hand through his hair. It springs back into its usual style, and you wonder for a brief moment if that’s natural or if there’s some kind of enchantment on it.

“I meant it as a compliment. I only saw the end, but your character was quite charming,” you say with a laugh. He starts walking deeper into the dressing room, and you see several changing screens as you follow him.

“Oh, Captain Aztare Tyaltti was a real man,” he says, heading behind one. “And I guarantee you he was much more charismatic in real life than he is in the play. They say he could charm his way into even the most extravagant of royal parties, despite being a known pirate.”

You lean against a nearby vanity, examining the objects littering the surface of it. “Well, I think you could’ve given him a run for his money,” flirting so naturally that the words are out before you can stop them. Your heart starts fluttering while you wait for him to reply.

“It sounds like maybe you’re a little biased,” he teases. He tosses the thick coat he was wearing over the side of the screen. You sag with relief when he doesn’t sound uncomfortable.

“Well, either way, I have to say, acting seems to suit you, you did a wonderful job.” You go back to picking up random things from the vanity, looking at them closer. A tube of lipstick, a fake silver hairbrush, a black mask with a long beak on it…

“I don’t do it very often. Only when the madame here wants me to fill in for actors that get sick or something.” The mask seems familiar, and something about it is itching at your mind. You peer at it closely. The memory of it comes back the second Dr. Devorak adds, “But that’s sweet of you to say.”

The memory starts in the very same dressing room you currently stand in. Only instead of changing behind a screen, Dr. Devorak was pressed against the foggy mirror beside the vanity, wearing that black mask. You leaned in to kiss his neck, right under his ear, and he reached up to weave his fingers in your hair.

“Ah, you’re so cute,” he muttered playfully, “I might just melt if I spend anymore time with you.” He pulled you closer to him so you rested against his chest as he gently scratched your scalp. Your kisses moved down his neck to the middle of his throat. “If you’re going to bite…do it along here,” he directed, gently pushing you to nose at the hairline behind his ear, placing your lips just along the long muscle leading down his neck.

It was tempting…but instead, you moved back to kiss at his jaw. He chuckles, “You don’t have to be gentle with me.” But then he wrapped an arm around your back to pull you even closer. The hand in your hair guided you to his mouth so he could kiss you, though it was a little bit awkward with the mask. The kiss wasn’t short, and it stole your breath away—along with your heart. You didn’t want it to end, and you could just tell that he didn’t either. When you finally did part, you heard a short huff as if he was frustrated it was over.

Nevertheless, he still smirked down at you. “…Sweet,” he says, smug.

You waited a second for him to clarify. “Sweet?” you asked when he didn’t. The mask he wore hid his face well, but not the way he licked his lips like he was savoring it.

“Too sweet.” You remember your face prickling with heat, embarrassed. And then you remember doing something ( _several_ somethings) _much_ more embarrassing, only interrupted by someone’s melodramatic cry.

“When I’m finished cleaning up here, do you want to head back to the clinic together?” Dr. Devorak asks casually in the now. You shudder, the memory of your rendezvous blending with the present and filling your head with shameful images. It suddenly feels much too warm in here, and you feel the pressing need to escape as soon as possible, immediately even. Otherwise…you’re not sure what you’ll do.

When it takes some time for you to answer, he sticks his head out from behind the screen to look at you. He raises an eyebrow, eye darting down to look at the mask still in your hand, and back to your certainly flustered face. You hope he’s not making the same connection you just did.

He opens his mouth to say something. You don’t give him the chance. “I-I just remembered that there’s something at the shop I wanted to see—I haven’t been there for a while and I think I had some, uh. Plants! That need watering!” You toss the mask back onto the vanity and start heading towards the door. “I need to check on them! I’ll see you at the clinic later! Good performance! Bye!”

You’re gone before he can even give a farewell back.

 

* * *

 

When you walk into your and Asra’s shop for the first time since you woke up in the clinic, you’re hit with waves of nostalgia and the feeling of home. After your hurry to get away from Dr. Devorak and have some space to calm down, you feel a lot better already, just basking in the familiar smells of the shop. You make your way further in, peeking through the thin gap between the curtains. Asra is inside, doing a complex reading for a cloaked customer. He glances at you and winks with a smile, and you nod in greeting back.

Before you climb the stairs to reach your room, you pick up a couple incense sticks—you feel like you might need them. As you set them into their holder in your room and light them, you sit on your mattress and simply breathe. You clear your mind, focusing only on the air entering and leaving your lungs.

As you relax further, you feel your magic well up in you, not quite simmering, but quivering, just wanting and waiting to be used. The Arcana that had been so quiet yesterday, begin whispering to you, drawing your hand into your pocket to pull out your deck. If the Arcana are going to be so insistent, then you will comply. Perhaps doing a reading for yourself will help bring some clarity to your situation.

With practiced motions, you shuffle the deck and select three cards. You place them in front of you, and pause for a moment. You’re a little nervous to flip the first card—your past. You remember a lot of it, but there’s also a significant part of it missing. As much as you want it back, there’s always that fear of the unknown. But you trust in the Arcana, and finally flip it over.

The Lovers, upright. The two snake-headed lovers hold each other tenderly. Their voices whisper to you clearly; the trust and love between two people can give them the strength and confidence to overcome any challenge. A nigh unbreakable bond that empowers and carries you through even the hardest times.

You’re a little surprised at their appearance. You believed your feelings for Dr. Devorak to be one-sided… Is it not the case? You feel it would be unwise to assume, but maybe there’s more to your relationship than the doctor lets on. You try to set aside the excitement and hope that wells up on your chest at the thought. Moving on, you flip over the card representing your present.

The Moon, reversed. A wolf-headed person, behind whom a waxing moon is suspended. The Moon’s words filter in, soft and a little watery; anxiety and confusion block your path, shadows in the dark causing you to hesitate. You want to make progress, but you don’t know how to take that first step forward. In order to do so, you must examine your fears, understand them so you can prepare yourself to overcome them.

Frustration wells up within you—you _know_ you’re stuck—but you force it back down, and reevaluate. What is it you want? To regain your memories of Dr. Devorak. What is stopping you? What are you afraid of? You are afraid you won’t get them back. No matter how hard you try, the only thing you can do is let them flow back on their own. What if you never get them all back?

You cast your mind to the Lovers, representing your past. You had a love that guided you through rough times. Your love for the doctor drove you to fight for his innocence, even when so many believed him to be guilty. Surely it has helped you through even worse, and surely it will help you now. It feels like a weight has been lifted from your heart as you think it through. You’ve depended on Dr. Devorak in the past. You trust him, as much now as you did before. Relieved, you turn the final card, the future.

The Star, upright. A cat-headed woman with a jug of water. Her message is bright; after enduring a tough trial, you will come out of it stronger than ever. To see the stars in your path of fate is a message believe in your inner light, as it will light the way in the night.

There is still hope. Your love will guide you through this.

You inhale a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, then let it go. The Arcana don’t lie. You gaze over the three cards steadily, considering their messages a final time. Then you slide them back into your deck, and back into your pocket.

Your mind is much clearer now, and you almost wish you had done this earlier. Though, you get the sense that the Arcana would not have properly answered you until now. With a soft chuckle, you stand. You weren’t totally lying when you told Dr. Devorak that you had plants here. But when you check them, they seem to have been watered recently. Asra must be taking care of them for you. You’ll have to thank him on your way out.

Before you leave, you decide to see if you can locate your pajamas. It would be nice to not have to sleep in day clothes anymore. You make your way towards your squat dresser and open the top drawer to find—nothing. It’s completely empty. You check the bottom drawer, and it’s also barren. That’s odd. Portia didn’t give you your entire dresser’s worth of clothes. How did they all go missing? You head downstairs, relieved to see that Asra seems to be finished with his earlier client, and when you reach the final step the cloaked figure is already out the door.

“Asra,” he looks to you when you call his name, “do you know what happened to all my clothes? They’re all gone.”

The relaxed smile on his face freezes, and his eyes no longer meet yours. “A-ah, well, you see…” You blink at him; it’s odd to see him so nervous. He flounders a bit, and eventually you take pity on him.

“Does this have to do with my missing memories?” you ask bluntly. Asra grimaces and nods. Your clothes are missing and it has something to do with Dr. Devorak… Strange. And interesting. You set it aside, however. It’s sunset outside, and you don’t want to arrive at the clinic too late. “I’m going to return to the clinic. Thank you for taking care of my plants while I’m gone.”

“Of course,” he says, waving as you head to the door. “Take care. Tell Ilya I said hi.”

The crisp air of evening feels nice as you walk back to Dr. Devorak’s clinic. On the way, you pull the blue shell necklace from beneath your shirt. It’s comforting to look at, and you give it some careful consideration before hiding it again as you near the clinic.

When you open the door, thankfully unlocked, you see Dr. Devorak pacing nervously in the small lobby. He’s in his full suit, including the overcoat, like he got back and never relaxed. As soon as he hears you enter, he spins on his heel to face you.

“You’re back!” he exclaims. Then he seems to remember himself, and eases on a kind, if somewhat anxious smile. “Are you all right…? Did you—” he interrupts himself by biting his lip. “Are you all right?” he repeats.

For the first time today, you feel like you really truly mean it when you say, “Yes, I’m fine.” You start walking towards the long-term patient’s room and Dr. Devorak follows. “It was relaxing to visit the shop again, and I consulted the cards. I feel a lot better now.” You feel your face warm a little when you remember the memory you’d gotten back back at the theater, but you don’t feel as skittish as you did the first time. You mostly feel…bashful. With the kind of nerves you wonder if Portia and Nadia felt this morning.

“That’s.” He looks a little confused, for some reason. “That’s good to hear. What did the cards say?”

The question startles you. You kind of don’t want to tell him; it would be quite revealing, and, until you’re sure it’s true, you don’t want to bring up the topic of any possible romance the two of you had. “It was, uh. Personal.”

He nods slowly, “…Sure.”

The two of you enter the room you’d been staying in, and when you sit on the side of your bed, he seems to remember something. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the deck of playing cards Portia had given you and grins.

“Found these next to your bag earlier, wanna play something?”

You snort. “Why not?”

He takes a seat and pulls them from their small container. As he shuffles them, he asks casually, “So what’s your game? Blackjack? Cheat? Poker? _Strip_ poker?” He waggles his eyebrows on the last one. You can’t help but laugh at him.

The two of you initially decide on poker ( _normal_ poker), but without any chips or anything to replace them with, you end up playing Old Maid instead. Dr. Devorak makes fun of it at first, but after a while, he starts getting really into it.

“Are you _sure_ you want to pick that one?” he asks as you hover over one of his two remaining cards. It could be the deciding draw; he’s holding the Joker and a King of Hearts. It could be a victory depend on which you draw, and you know he’s just trying to psyche you out, but it’s hard to figure out if it’s he’s trying to use reverse psychology or if he’s honestly just messing with you.

You examine him with narrowed eyes, and he stares evenly back. His smile is devil-may-care and his posture is relaxed, as though he knows he’s going to win even though the game is all practically chance. Eventually you come to a decision and pick the other card. The moment you turn it around to see the face, he starts cackling—it’s the Joker. You groan and shuffle your two cards where he can’t see, and hold them up for him.

His smile is casual again as he looks between the two cards. He raises a hand to tap his lower lip with a fingertip, and your eyes are instantly drawn to it. He does have a pretty mouth…

But then he’s withdrawing his hand to snatch one of your cards, and he crows with victory when it’s your King of Hearts he’s taken, leaving you with the Joker. Somehow, it feels like a metaphor of sorts.

The two of you play card games deep into the night. At one point you glance outside and see that the moon is almost halfway through the sky. Dr. Devorak doesn’t seem to notice the time, though…so you don’t mention it. You selfishly don’t want to stop spending time with him.

Eventually, though, the two of you become too tired to play anymore, and you set the deck on the chair, while the doctor sits beside you on the bed. You talk to each other about all kinds of things. You tell him how you found the theater, and he informs you the crow that lead you there is probably the nuisance of South End named Malak, known for hating the palace guard and being oddly attached to the doctor. He tells you the supposedly real story of Captain Aztare Tyaltti while you question him on every plothole.

It becomes so late that the two of you are a little drunk on it, and your throat feels a little dry from all the talking. “I need some water,” you mumble, and he scoots his legs out of your way so you can walk past him, but he’s a little too slow and ends up tripping you. With a start, he instantly grabs your arm and yanks. He saves you from a rough tumble to the wood floor, but as consequence, you end up sprawled in his lap.

For some uncountable seconds that feel like they stretch on for ages, the two of you just stare at each other. All the tiredness is singed away with painful alertness, both from the adrenaline from the fall and just how close you are to the man you love, but you’re still a little delirious. You start cataloguing all the places you touch; your hands on his shoulders, chests pressed together, one of his hands firm on the bed behind him for stability and the other on your waist, your backside and legs on and framing his thighs.

Dr. Devorak breathes your name so softly that you’re not sure if he actually said it or if you’re just hearing things now. His eye slowly roams your face, stopping on your slightly parted lips. He bites his own like he’s trying to restrain himself. Unlike him, you can’t resist that look. Leaning forward the scant few inches between you, you press your lips to his.

He stiffens, and you think he’s going to push you off, but instead he makes a desperate noise and kisses you back. Your lips move against his, the kiss staying relatively dry, but you still struggle to breathe. When you back off for a second to take a breath, the doctor quickly follows, too impatient to wait. His fervor is heady, and you dive back into the kiss. Your arms move to wrap around his neck so you can press yourself even closer to him, getting intoxicated on him and loving it.

When the two of you part for air again, his face screws up a little, like he’s about to say something you’ll both regret. You have a feeling you know what he’s about to say, and you don’t want to hear it, so you kiss him again. He returns it for a little bit, but he makes a noise, and pulls back again, whispering your name softly.

“We…shouldn’t do this,” he says. Your heart sinks; you knew that’s what he was going to say. “You still don’t remember me, and I…I…”

You shush him, pressing your fingers to his mouth. He silences immediately, staring at you pleadingly, though you can’t tell if he wants you to stop or continue. You wonder if he doesn’t know either. Once you’re sure he won’t talk again, you remove your hand and kiss him again. If he really doesn’t want to do this, he’ll push you away.

To your delight, it seems like his reservations melt away after that. A steady thrum of excitement electrifies the air between you, and the doctor corrects his posture so he can put both hands on you. They run up your back, then down again, and one moves around to rest on your chest. It stops just over your heart, and you’re certain he can feel the beats like the wings of a hummingbird.

In between your kisses, you hear him muttering to himself. You mostly can’t understand what he’s saying, but one sentence is somewhat intelligible, “God, but I’m too weak for you…” It sends a shiver down your spine and puts butterflies in your stomach.

Then Dr. Devorak does a tricksy thing with his tongue that makes you jump in his lap, the heat in your body almost becoming overwhelming. You wonder if there’s steam coming off your face. As he works his tongue into your mouth, you can’t help but squirm, trying fruitlessly to keep up with him. One particularly rough jerk presses you close enough to feel a bulge in his leggings against your thigh. The both of you gasp as you make contact, and he stares at you, mortified.

“I-I—” but he chokes on his own words when you slide down his body, off the bed, and onto your knees on the floor. “Wait, hold on— _a-ahhh_ …” you don’t let him get a sentence out before you start touching him through his leggings. You know what he’s going to say; something along the lines of, ‘hold on, you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t remember me.’ You’re utterly certain that even if you got all your memories back right now, you’d still, without a doubt, want to do what you’re about to do.

And what you’re about to do is give Julian the greatest blowjob of his life. Well…maybe not the greatest. But you’re going to give it your best shot, anyway.

As you rub him, he eventually is unable to keep himself sitting straight, and he hunches over, hands gripping the side of the mattress tight. He whimpers your name and stares down at you. You look back up at him and smile reassuringly. Then you shove your free hand under his sash to tug the ties of his leggings loose enough so you can pull them down.

To your surprise, there’s no clothes underneath the leggings, but as much as you want to comment on it, you feel like if you leave room for conversation, Dr. Devorak would immediately bolt. So instead, you push his legs open so you can scoot in close and grasp his now freed erection, watching his face closely, even though it’s hard to see in the dim light.

As soon as you touch him, he gasps, then groans. His eye squeezes shut, and as much as you wish he’d keep it open, you don’t want to pressure him. So you lean down, only letting your breath gently touch the head of his cock for a second before sliding it into your mouth. You start slow, bobbing your head, not risking taking in too much at once so soon and accidentally nicking him with your teeth. Though…he’d probably like it. That’s an idea to save for later, you think, once you’ve grown accustomed to his bitter taste and the weight in your mouth.

He’s trying to keep himself quiet, but it’s not working. Little whines and gasping moans slip past his lips unbidden, and he can’t stop them. When you start taking him a little farther in, he gives up trying to keep them back through sheer willpower alone, and one of his hands darts up to cover his mouth. That’s something you don’t want to let slide, so, maintaining your rhythm his length, you reach up to gently take his wrist. He opens his eye as you pull his hand away. He flinches, seeing you between his knees and managing to take in over half of his admittedly large size, but he also seems mesmerized. He doesn’t shut his eye again, though it does go half-lidded and a little hazy.

After some practice, you start gearing up to take his full length into your mouth. You wait until you’re sure he’s paying you his full attention to do it, and when you do, he’s moans your name, and curses under his breath.

“You… Oh, _darling_ ,” the way the endearment curls out of his mouth, soft and loving, feels _right_ , and you didn’t know how much you missed it until you heard it again. Again?

It’s probably the worst timing your fickle mind could ever choose to remember something.

You don’t recognize the room you’re in in the memory. It was small and a little cramped with all the furniture in it; a wardrobe, a wooden chair with clothes hanging on it, a bedside table with a lamp, and a bed that you were lying in. You felt someone curled around you, an arm wrapped around your waist. The both of you were half-naked, both for the sake of intimacy and the fact that it’s summer outside. You just know the person behind you was Dr. Devorak. You were staring at that shining blue shell, absent of the silver chain you’re used to now, on the bedside table and were filled with such a strong burst of love that you had to say something.

“Hey,” past you murmured, “when do you want me to move in?” Dr. Devorak froze behind you, and you were instantly worried and nervous and full of doubt. When he buried his face into your hair, you whispered his name with concern— _Julian_ , not _Dr. Devorak_ —and you heard him gasp.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, sounding like someone who just remembered how to breathe, “I just. Needed a second. You can move in whenever you like.” The tired but giddy excitement in his voice made your heart squeeze with affection. “Yesterday, even, if you want.”

“Yesterday. Yesterday sounds good.” You couldn’t help a small laugh.

“Wonderful.” He sounded like he’d fall asleep any second, and it was punctuated with a yawn. “Perfect. I’ll ask Pasha to help…”

“Good night, Julian.” You smiled to yourself, letting your own eyes slip shut.

“You too, darling…”

Somehow, you manage to keep your composure while you pleasure the doctor, despite your mind running at lightspeed. What was that? Move in? Do you live with Dr. Devorak—no, Julian? That would explain why your clothes were missing from the shop. It would also explain why Portia was acting weird when you mentioned the shop instead of whatever place you share with Julian. That shell…it must represent the day you decided to move in with him. Does this mean you _were_ lovers after all? If so, why would Julian and everyone else keep it a secret from you? It must have been so painful for him… Your heart immediately aches with sympathy.

You have to make it up to him. Maybe you still haven’t gotten all your memories back, but now that you know you were lovers, and you _can_ make it up to him.

Throwing yourself back into it, you begin sucking Julian off with a renewed passion, writhing your tongue against him. His moan is a little startled and choked, and he gasps out your name again. Instinctively, you reach a hand around to his flat backside, and grope him firmly. A tremor goes through his body, and one of his hands flies to your hair. He doesn’t pull on it, but he tugs just a little to get your attention.

You look up at him, taking him in deep again. Whatever he was gonna tell you is replaced with a strangled sounding noise. This time he does pull, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to know he wants you off. You pout and open your mouth to ask why, when you become very much aware; thick white come splatters onto your face, mostly on your cheeks and nose, but some lands on your lips and chin, and a little even ends up in your mouth.

Julian, when his eye finally opens and sees you, immediately looks horrified, ashamed of what he’s done. “I’m sorry!” He yanks his hand from your hair and reaches into his waistcoat pocket for a handkerchief, and starts wiping your face clean. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—I should’ve stopped this earlier—I—…”

As soon as your face is cleaned, or as clean as he can get it, he stares at you, biting his lip again. You see some tears well up in his eye, and now you’re the one to feel guilty. Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed him. Before you can try to absolve him or at least console him, he gets to his feet, quickly pulling his leggings back up.

“Julian, wait—” Unfortunately, he doesn’t, and strides out of the room in a hurry. You could follow him…but you feel like you should give him some space. Maybe you need some space too.

 

* * *

 

 

Julian doesn’t visit you at all the next day.

When you woke up, you noticed a plate full of fluffy, fresh rosemary rolls, but no doctor. As you ate them, you tried not to cry. You know last night wasn’t exactly a rejection, and you have no reason to feel like it was, but now you’re scared you’ve ruined what you thought you had.

Asra visits in the afternoon. You were expecting him—the shop’s always closed earlier on this day of the week, and you know he won’t go out on any of his journeys while you’re staying at the clinic with still missing memories. He’s smiling when he walks in, but it falls soon when he notices how morose you look.

“What’s wrong?” he asks in lieu of a greeting as he sits down in the chair by your bed.

Faust wriggles out of his coat and tilts her head upside down at you. “ _Sad?_ ”

You sigh, “That obvious?” They both nod and you simper at them. “Well… Last night, I…I think I made a mistake.” Running a hand through your hair, you explain. “I remembered a few…important things yesterday. Were we… Julian and I were lovers, weren’t we?” You’re quite sure you were, but it doesn’t hurt to double-check.

Asra leans back and crosses his legs. “You were, yes,” he answers eventually, “You have been for a while.”

“I thought so.” You continue, “Anyway, when I came to the shop, I did a reading, and it made me…a little bold, to say the least. Last night, I think I may have, uh. Come on a little strongly,” you can’t help the way your face grows warm, “and…he seemed really upset. I thought it would make him happy, but…it didn’t. And now we haven’t talked all day, and…I miss him, Asra.” Idly, you pull out the blue shell necklace and fiddle with it. “One of the things I remembered was when we decided I’d move in with him. We were so happy…”

The three of you sit in companionable silence for a while. Faust slithers into your bed and wraps around one of your arms, squeezing a couple times. “ _Talk?_ ”

Asra glances at her before catching your eye. “She’s probably right, you know. The only way you can fix this is by talking to him.”

“I—… I don’t know if he wants to…” you say, hesitantly.

“Sometimes you have to talk to people you care for about things, even if it’s scary or you don’t want to. Relationships don’t work if you don't communicate.” Then he shrugs, “Besides, Ilya probably does want to, but he’s just too busy beating himself up for whatever happened. I’d bet he thinks it’s his fault somehow.”

That…sounds like Julian. You cross your arms and shut your eyes, thinking. “If we don’t talk about it, and he avoids me forever, I won’t get my memories back, either…” Asra hums affirmatively. You open your eyes and smile at both of them. “Thanks, you guys.”

“Of course,” Asra says. “Now, how about something to eat?” He pulls out a bag of perfectly ripened fruits and rough jerked meat, and the three of you tuck in.

 

You decide to talk to Julian once Asra leaves.

He’s likely cooping himself up in his office, so you make your way towards it. You take a deep calming breath as you place your hand on the knob. You go over what you want to say to him a couple times, then open the door.

“Julian, I—” you’re cut off by a sudden hiccuping sob, and when you actually look at him, you see one of his hands is obscuring part of his face and there are tears dripping down his face and onto his desktop. Everything you were going to say is suddenly erased from your mind because Julian is crying and it’s probably all your fault.

You rush over to his side, crouching down so you can see his face. He finally looks at you, your name tumbling from his lips in his surprise, but you don’t really notice because now you can see his eyes—both of them.

At first, you don’t remember ever seeing under his eyepatch, so you don’t know what you expected was under it. But now you’re wondering how you could’ve forgotten the bright crimson sclera surrounding the dark gray of his iris. You’re wondering how you could’ve forgotten what happened to him, what happened to you, so long ago. You’re wondering how you could’ve forgotten _Julian_ , and everything you’ve gone through with him, _for_ him.

It feels like a dam’s broken in your head; memory upon sweet memory of the last year of your lovely happy life, and the more life-threatening and thrilling and dangerous ones from the years preceding it rushing into your consciousness like a hurricane. But at the center of it all is Julian, the man you’ve loved with so much of your being that you don’t know how you’ve survived the past few days without him. You remember every moment you caught of his loneliness when you didn’t know who he was, and it crushes you with guilt. How could you forget him?

And then you remember how—you fell. Malak, the windbag, sometimes spends hours sitting on the sign in front of your shop, leaving droppings all over it. You went to clean it for the hundredth time, climbing up onto a barrel so you could reach it. But it rained the day before, and the top of the barrel was still slick with rainwater. You stood on the tips of your toes, and slipped, falling backwards. …The last thought you remember having before knocking your head on the pavement, even within the grips of fear, was of Julian.

Julian gasps, and slaps a hand over his right eye, but it’s obviously much too late. He sniffles and tries to wipe his face casually, unable to meet your eyes. “Wh-what’s wrong?” he tries to ask nonchalantly, but his voice is still thick with emotion and he can’t stop the quiver that remains from his crying.

“Julian,” you pull his hand from his face with one hand, and cup his cheek in your other. He makes eye contact with you, but he looks scared. You can’t have that. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not—”

“It is,” you interrupt, voice firm. “I remembered. Everything,” you add when he looks like he’s going to ask. “I don’t regret what happened last night. And I’m so sorry I forgot you. I’m sorry for leaving you alone. It can’t have been easy.” When he looks like he’s going to burst into tears again, you lean up to hug him, kneeling between his knees. He hugs you back, squeezing so tight you can barely breathe and shoving his face in between your neck and shoulder, and you can feel him quaking, barely holding back full-body sobs.

You begin rubbing his back in soothing circles, ignoring how he’s soaking the shoulder of your top in tears and snot, only happy that you _finally_ regained your memories and you can _finally_ be together with him again.

It takes him a while to calm down, but when he does, he pulls away from you, a little reluctantly. His face is red and patchy and has clothing wrinkle marks on his cheeks and forehead, his left eye is bloodshot, and there’s tears and snot everywhere. But he’s smiling at you with such tender devotion that you can’t describe him as being anything short of angelic. Still, you can’t help a chuckle, and pull off your shirt to wipe his face clean. It’s already beyond saving, and if you waited too long, it’d all dry up on him and probably feel gross.

He lets you clean him up, not daring to look away for a second, as if he’s letting himself make up for the days he couldn’t lest he get caught. You get the brief urge to tease him for it, but you push it away. You should let him have this.

“I love you,” he murmurs when you toss the shirt over your shoulder to the floor. He leans down to give you a kiss on the forehead, then showers you with little pecks down your temple over your cheeks and nose, ending with a passionate kiss to your lips that you gladly reciprocate.

When you pull apart, you fold your arms over his lap and grin up at him, “I was right, by the way.” Your grin widens when he looks at you confused. “I knew my life wouldn’t be complete without you.”

The flush on his face that had finally started to fade comes back with a vengeance. “A-ah,” he stutters, “ _that’s_ what you meant.” He carefully schools his expression into something more playful. “Well, for your information, I wouldn’t even _have_ a life without you.” He punctuates his statement by reaching around you so he can lift you up into his lap and hold you close against him. Without hesitation, you rest your hands on his chest and play with the hair on his chest, framed by his slightly undone waistcoat.

“I guess we must be soulmates,” you say, voice quiet between you with intimacy.

“I guess so,” he mumbles back, smiling innocently again. Then he finally notices the blue shell necklace hanging from your neck, and his eyes widen. “When did you…?”

“Oh,” you chuckle and rub the back of your head, “Portia gave it to me… I think she hoped it would bring some of my memories back, but… Well, it made me happy to have it at least, even if I didn’t know why before.” Maybe he gave it to you on a whim that day, but it was a tangible reminder of one of the most purely joyful days of your life; a fun day at the beach with your lover and his sister, followed by a satisfying dinner at the Rowdy Raven, and an unforgettable night at Julian’s…where, among other things, you agreed to move in with him.

Julian smiles shyly. “I’m glad you like it.”

The two of you spend some time just basking in each others’ presence, happy to be truly together again. You find you’re no longer upset about forgetting Julian, only relieved and glad you’ve remembered him. And even happier that he seems just as happy as you do. At some point you see him licking his chapped lips, and you give him a chaste kiss.

And then, an idea occurs to you.

“You know,” you say, affecting a slight saucy tone as you drag your finger along his chest and collarbone, “I just realized I never paid you for your care, doctor.”

Julian raises an eyebrow, recognizing your tone. Then he smirks, “No need, it was my pleasure to serve.”

“Oh, no, please, I insist,” you smile and reach into your empty pocket. With fake surprise, you say, “Oh my, it looks like I don’t have any money on me… Is there any other way I can repay you?”

He snickers and leans in close, “I’m sure we could think of a few…” He kisses you sweetly, rubbing your back gently. The leather of his gloves on your bare skin is soothing, but you also want to feel him. As you kiss him back, you slide your hands down to start pulling open the snaps of his waistcoat, and undoing the buttons of the shirt below it. Then you undo the tasseled tie over his sash, and pull it and the sash away, giving you full access to the entirety of his torso.

You drag your hand down his body at the same time you pry open his lips with your tongue. He makes an interested little noise and his hands slide down to your hips, massaging them rhythmically. It’s almost too relaxing, but you don’t let your wandering falter; the hand not making its way slowly down his abs moves just over his heart, resting there for a moment over its fluttering beat before moving the few inches to pinch and pull at his nipple.

He groans and pulls away a little, “Did you have something specific in mind, darling?” You press a quick but firm kiss to his neck, then look him in the eyes.

“To be honest, I was thinking, mm…” you grind your half-hard erection against his and you both moan. “I was thinking about riding you in this chair if you were up for it, but I’m open to suggestions.” Julian shudders at your words and his eyes go half-lidded.

“No, no, that sounds perfect, if that’s what you want,” he says in a rush. He rearranges himself so the two of you can rut against each other to coax yourselves to full hardness with more ease, and he lets his head fall back against his chair, focusing on the pleasure. His exposed neck is very tempting, but you instead cast your attention to the drawer of his desk that you know contains a certain bottle of clear liquid. You lean over to open it up and withdraw the bottle, setting it on the desktop for now.

It pains you to do so, but you have to leave Julian’s lap if you want to remove the rest of your outfit without falling over. When you get up, he looks up to you with curiosity, but he soon understands what you’re doing and watches closely. You can’t help but laugh a little at his attention.

“You know,” you say offhandedly as you undress, “when you caught me bathing, when I still didn’t remember you, I was embarrassed, but…” After tossing your clothes aside, you straddle his lap again, “I was a little more focused on how adorably flustered you were over it.”

Julian groans, and not with pleasure. “Not one of my best moments, I’ll admit. It was…” he pouts and idly rubs at the juts of your hip bones while he tries to think of the words, “I felt a little like a teenager all over again.”

Your face lights up with interest. “Did you get hot under the collar after seeing a little bit of skin?” He glares at you…but he doesn’t deny it. You can’t help but giggle. But it turns into a squeaking gasp when Julian suddenly wraps a cool hand around your aching cock.

“We’ll just see who gets the last laugh here, my dear,” he says, much too self-assured for someone you intend to completely wreck. He gives you a few firm strokes before pulling away again to remove his gloves with two loud snaps. While he does so, you reach over to grab the bottle of lubricant and quickly douse your fingers. Reaching behind you, you slide a single finger into your sensitive hole, looking back at Julian.

His eyes on you feel like a physical touch, passionate and hot and oh so earnest. He bites his lip before asking, voice a little rough with arousal, “Is there anything I can do? Anything you want me to do…?” You sigh dreamily against him, pushing another finger into yourself.

“I’ve got this, Julian,” you murmur, leaning in close to him and bending your back just so so he can see you prepare yourself over your shoulder, “just watch and wait for me, all right?” You can’t see his face anymore, which is a shame, but you can feel him shudder beneath you and nod.

Knowing he’s watching you makes the process all the more stimulating. You press deep inside yourself (though never as deep as Julian can reach with those sinfully long digits of his), and spread your fingers, trying to loosen yourself for his greater than average size. When you reach the point where you have four of your fingers opening you wide, he starts trembling with his restraint. You know he wants to help, he wants to touch you, he wants _you_ , and it makes you a little light-headed. But while this is for him, you know he wouldn’t want to hurt you and you’re not quite ready yet, so you try and divert his attention by kissing and biting and sucking at his neck. You’re a little sloppy since it’s hard to focus with his ogling and the pleasant feeling of something inside you, even if it’s only your own fingers, but he seems to appreciate it nonetheless because his breathing gets heavy and shaky.

Looking for something to do, he grasps your thighs and slowly drags them up. His normally cool skin is such a strong contrast to the heat in your body, and he trails goosebumps in his wake. He doesn’t stop when he reaches the swell of your ass, and he takes both cheeks in his hand and spreads them lewdly. You can’t help but shudder; it’s easier to get deeper this way, and the shamelessness of his action makes your fingers jerk a little inside you and you accidentally brush your prostate. When you whine into his neck, you hear him swallow hard.

“Oh, Julian,” you sigh, “I want you so bad.” He whimpers, and you continue, “Even when I didn’t remember you, I did. Almost from the very beginning, despite not knowing why. Like my love for you is so deeply rooted in my heart that even if I lose my memories…I can never forget it.” When he breathes your name, his voice is a little watery, like he’s going to cry again. “At the theater yesterday, I remembered the first time we went there together, and we kissed against that mirror… That’s why I ran away; I didn’t know what I would’ve done if I stayed. Maybe kiss you… Maybe push you up against the mirror again.”

“You _could_ have, I—” he begins desperately, but you interrupt him with a not unkind laugh.

“Could I have? You didn’t seem so enthusiastic last night.” You nip under his ear, “I’m sorry for that, by the way. I just wanted to make you happy, make up for all the times we didn’t when I forgot we were lovers.”

“It’s all right,” he mumbles, flexing his hands on you and splaying you out just that tiny bit further, “It’s not that I didn’t like it—I _certainly_ did—I just… I felt guilty, like I was taking advantage of you. You didn’t have all the facts, and it felt…wrong.”

“Taking advantage?” you ask, bewildered. “I was the one who started it. If anything, _I_ was the one taking advantage of _you_.”

Julian purrs with interest in your ear then, “You can take advantage of me any time you like, darling,” and nuzzles against your temple.

A sweet giggle escapes you, “Careful, I might take you up on that.” He makes that tantalized purring noise again.

With a couple more motions, you consider yourself well and truly prepared, and you push yourself up, pulling your fingers from inside you with a slick little sound. You untie Julian’s leggings, pulling them down enough to reveal his length. It’s flushed pink and wanting, and you pour a little more lubricant into your hand so you can get him properly wet for you. He tries to muffle his groan when you touch him.

As you position yourself above him, reaching down to align him neatly with your hole, you ask, “Are you ready?” You let yourself drop down on him quickly the moment he nods. Both of you cry out and hold yourselves still. It doesn’t hurt, there’s just so much pressure that you have to let yourself adjust.

Julian’s hands start fluttering all over your person, wanting something to do to distract him from his obvious desire to just thrust up into you. With a chuckle, you grab his hands and place them on your hips.

“You can grip as hard as you want,” you tell him, kissing the corner of his mouth, “but you can’t move your hands, okay?” As he nods, his eyes go half-lidded and he bites his lip in that way he does whenever you tell him what to do, and satisfaction wells up in your stomach.

Finally, you start moving. You lift your hips up and slide back down, much slower this time. As you keep that gentle pace, you watch Julian’s face closely. His cheeks and ears are that pretty red, and his eyes are unfocused with pleasure. His lips are loosely parted and a temptation you couldn’t hope to resist. You lean in to kiss him, grasping his shoulders, and he kisses you back enthusiastically with a wanton whimper, delicious in your mouth.

That’s when you start moving faster. It unfortunately requires you to pull away from the kiss, and he almost starts to follow, but as you increase your speed, he falls back against the back of his chair with a moan. His hands tighten around your hips, but he doesn’t try to move you. He’s staying so still in his chair, keeping his hands so firmly where you told him to. You smile at him, so pleased.

“ _Ah_ —you’re doing so _well_ , Julian,” you manage to say, and you can hear the rhythmic breathlessness in your voice, “You were so strong for me the past few days—I’m so proud of you…”

It takes a second for him to reply, but when he does, he sounds ragged, “It was so hard, darling, I missed you so _much_ — _ngh_ —but I—” he gasps as you squeeze down hard on him, “I had to, for you—it’s always for you, I—…” He trails off, head drooping a little, too lost in the pleasure to talk anymore. He quivers beneath you with barely restrained tension.

“Julian,” you coo, tilting his head up to look up at you again, “you’ve been such a good boy—you can touch me wherever you want, and you can move if you’d like.” His eyes widen, and he immediately takes you up on the offer. His hands scrabble up your back, resting between your shoulder blades, and he starts thrusting his hips up, slightly off time with your movements. But somehow, it allows him to so perfectly pound into that sensitive spot inside you, and you can’t help but cry out his name.

Both of your frenzied and jerking movements, carnal and more animalistic the longer you keep them up, feels absolutely euphoric; a passionate intimacy borne of surpassing several misfortunate and lonely days without it. You hope Julian can feel your love as strongly as you can feel his. You can even feel your magic swirling with his thin reserves, fulfilling and touching you in every imaginable way.

At some point, Julian begins chanting your name, desperate and hushed, wanting and so so close to the edge. He reaches a shaky hand to your front and grasps your cock, hand tense, and starts stroking, trying to get you off as quick as he can.

It works, because you didn’t realize how close you were yourself until you’re suddenly coming with a loud moan, bearing down on Julian so tight that you don’t know if he can even move. You can feel the moment he comes, too, yanking you hard against him even as you’re mid-orgasm, shuddering with pleasure as he fills you to the brim. Your new position leaves just enough space for some of his semen to dribble out of you, sliding down your thigh in a way that makes you feel a little dirty but incredibly satisfied at the same time.

The two of you lie there, slumped and boneless in Julian’s office chair, for some time. You’re almost half-asleep when you feel him try to move you, and, too drowsy to try and resist him, he maneuvers you such that he can pull out of you. You feel the rest of his come begin to sluggishly ooze out of you, and shiver. He touches a couple fingers to your hole, and makes a regretful hissing noise.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I should’ve asked first. I was just, um.” He pauses with his embarrassment, “Distracted.”

You laugh a little, voice hoarse. “It’s all right, I don’t mind.” With a shy glance into his eyes through your lashes, you add, “In fact, I think it’s a little hot.” It was worth admitting when his eyes go half-lidded again and he bites his lip.

“You can’t just say things like that, especially with that face,” he grumbles, more to himself than you. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he gathers you into his arms, stands, and replaces you on his chair. “I’m going to get some things so we can get cleaned up,” he explains, tucking himself back into his leggings. It’s only then that he seems to notice the splatter of white all over his abdomen. With a grunt, he picks up your discarded shirt and tries mostly in vain to wipe it up.

“I love you,” you say with a yawn. “Don’t take too long.”

Before he leaves, he reaches down to caress your cheek, staring at you with impossible fondness. “I love you, too, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes. yes portia and nadia are dating. they love each other very much. thank you for asking.
> 
> anyway, i love julian, blah, blah, i say this every time.
> 
> also, special announcement, i'm done working on ODBRR for now? i might add more pieces to it another time, but i'm stopping _only_ because i have a pretty lengthy chaptered work in mind that i really wanna work on!! it'll be a canonverse AU fic called "The Doctor Thief and the Prince of Vesuvia"—keep an eye out for it if the title intrigues you!! :^)))
> 
> EDIT: after rereading the "Desktop Fantasies" entry of this series, i realized that i may have a kink for julian fucking w most of his clothes on, W h o o p s ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ what can i say, the man has some very nice clothes  
> EDIT 2: WROW, AFTER FINDING OUT FOR REAL HOW MAZELINKA KNOWS JULIAN AND PORTIA, I REALIZE THERE ARE SOME THINGS IN HERE THAT AREN'T VERY CANON COMPLIANT LOL. too bad i'm too lazy to change it 😏


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